


Father Christmas

by Tigrislupa



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Brothers, Christmas, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigrislupa/pseuds/Tigrislupa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick beamed down at him. “You’ve never sat in Santa’s lap before, Dami! This is a rite of childhood!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! I hope everyone has a wonderful season! (This story was supposed to go out in my holiday cards. It was also supposed to only be a couple hundred words long, tops. That didn't quite happen...)
> 
> A big thanks to Blackash for betaing this for me. Standard disclaimer applies, none of the characters belong to me.
> 
> EDIT: This fic has now been translated into Chiniese by [Blurryyou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryyou/pseuds/blurryyou)! You can check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1081250).

Gotham City Central Mall was alive with the hustle and bustle of holiday shoppers. Throngs of people spilled from every store, trying to find everything on their list. In the center of it all stood a massive line mostly filled with women.

Scowling, Damian glared at the crowd around them. “This is idiotic. Why are we doing this?”

Dick beamed down at him. “You’ve never sat in Santa’s lap before, Dami! This is a rite of childhood!”

Damian shot him a withering look. “That is not Santa. That is Father. And Santa Clause does not ex-“ A hand slapped over his mouth.

“Ah ah ah, not the sort of thing you say here.” Dick eyed the three small children standing with their mother a few people in front of them. The oldest one couldn’t have been more than seven and was staring at them suspiciously.

Leaning in front of Dick, Jason made a silly face at the kid. With a start the little boy reeled back. Flushing, he stuck his tongue out at them before turning and tugging at his mother’s coat.

Tim jabbed Jason with his elbow. “Cut it out. You can hardly blame him for staring. We _are_ the only men here without kids.”

Slinging his arm around him, Jason pulled Tim to his side. “Not true, Babybird.” he leaned down. “We’re just the only ones here who don’t want in Santa’s pants.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim shoved at Jason and ducked out from under the arm. As he opened his mouth to respond, Tim paused and did a double take towards the front of the picture area. “Oh my God, that baby just threw up on Bruce!”

Heads shooting up, Dick and Jason burst out laughing.

“The look on his face!” Jason howled.

“Priceless! That was priceless! You want a boost to see, Dami?”

 Damian scoffed and batted away Dick’s hands. “Of course not, Grayson. I have no desire to see Father in such a state.”

 “Of course not, Dami.” Dick smiled, watching the boy covertly try and peer through the crowd. Damian wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought.

 One new Santa jacket, three harried mothers, and eight gold diggers later, the boys stood at the front of the line.

“Okay, Damian. Go on up.” Dick ushered him forward.

Damian strode towards the display, head held high, until he came to stand in front of Santa. With a scowl, he turned back to look at his brothers. Dick, still smiling brightly, shooed Damian on as Tim and Jason smirked. Rolling his eyes, Damian made to turn back to his father.

Only to find large hands hoisting him up and setting him on Santa’s lap.

Damian surveyed the man in the suit, taking in everything from his hat to his beard to the boots on his feet.

“Father.”

“Damian.”

Reaching into his pocket, Damian took out a wad of paper and began unfolding it. “I believe now is when I make my list of demands known.”

Bruce sighed. “Something like that.”

“Very well. I have here,” Damian pointed at the sheet, “a list of components necessary to upgrade the motorcycle I have asked for. You will also note that I have requested that you get rid of the ridiculous rule requiring me to obtain a driver’s license before getting my own vehicle.”

Bruce glanced over the extensive list. “Oh is that all?”

“Not quite. I wish to be rid of my curfew. It is entirely unnecessary and greatly reduces my- our efficiency.”

Bruce hummed. “We’ll see.”

 “Also,” Damian flushed and stared into his lap, “Colin requests that I receive the next book in this series.” He pointed at a name hastily scribbled at the bottom of the page. “The writing is atrocious, but the story is…tolerable. He insists on getting it before its release next month.”

Bruce’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. “Of course, Damian, I’ll see what I can do.”

“tt, may I go now?”

“Almost.” Bruce said, gesturing to the camera.

Scoffing, Damian turned to where the photographer was. The woman was waving a small stuffed bear, dancing it about. Damian shot the toy a look of death and the hand quickly retracted it.  Looking straight into the camera lens, he was the picture of a haughty young prince sitting enthroned with his father. Even if his father looked _ridiculous_.

Light flashed as the camera went off. Damian slipped off his father’s lap and strode over to the edge of the display area, where he settled to watch and wait for the rest of his brothers.

Jason patted Tim’s shoulder. “All right, Babybird, your turn.”

“What? No. Damian’s finished we should just-“

 “Nope, Jason’s right.” Dick clasped his other shoulder. “Go on up and tell Santa what you want.”

“Dick-“

 “I will carry you up there myself. Now,” Jason leaned in, smirking, “what’s it gonna be?”

Tim glanced between the grinning faces on either side of him. Sighing, he hung his head in defeat. “Fine.”

Jason thumped Tim on the back as Dick ruffled his hair. Batting their hands away, Tim started towards Bruce. However, as he came to stand in front of the chair, he hesitated.  With a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and hoisted himself onto Santa’s lap.

 “So, uh, hi, Bruce.”

 “Tim.” Bruce nodded. “Mind telling me what you all are doing here?”

 “Uh, basically this was all Dick’s idea, Jason’s an ass-” Tim began to fidget, looking anywhere but at Bruce, “and Damian was right, this was a terrible idea. I’ll just… go now.”

However, as Tim moved to slip off Santa’s lap, an arm snaked its way around his waist and held him in place.

“Not so fast, young man. You haven’t told me what you want for Christmas yet.”

“What? Seriously?” Tim turned to stare at Bruce. He gazed up at the ceiling and sighed. “Of course you’re serious. I guess I haven’t really thought about it?”

“Well, what do you want the most right now?”

“Right now?” Tim paused, mulling over the question. “Probably for the board to approve my project for getting green energy into the Westside slums.”

Bruce frowned. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Tim shrugged. “Warrington and his buddies want to block it and use the area for their own project. And they’re also arguing about using the energy in other areas first. Actually, if you would let me down, I really do need to get back to-“

“Tim.” Bruce laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “If you want I can take a look at it when I get home, and we can sit down and come up with a strategy together.”

Shock flashed across Tim’s face before he grinned widely. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“And maybe I can see about getting that new game. What’s was it, Conduit 3?”

Tim gaped. “How did you…?”

An amused smile played on Bruce’s face. “A little bird told me. Now, ready for that picture?”

“I think I can do that.” Tim turned to the camera and smiled. Not a Wayne smile, just a soft, Tim smile.

The camera flashed. Bruce gave Tim a light pat on the back as he slid off Bruce’s lap and went to go stand with Damian.

Dick put his hand on Jason’s back. “All right, Little Wing. Your turn.”

Scowling, Jason made to turn to Dick. “What the hell-”

Dick grinned as he shoved and sent Jason stumbling out into the middle of Santa’s set up. As Jason straightened himself up he shot a quick glare over his shoulder before striding over to Santa’s chair.

With a heavy thump Jason slung himself onto Bruce’s lap, his legs dangling over the armrest. “S’up, Nick?”

With a sigh, Bruce eased his arm from under Jason’s knees. “Jason.” Bruce paused, as if bracing himself. “What would you like for Christmas?”

Jason smirked. “Well gee, Santa, I’ve always wanted my own pony.”

 “I’m sure.” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.

“How about an unlimited tab at Bender’s Bar?”

“No.”

 “A year’s supply of cigs?”

 “No.”

“Keys to _the_ _car_ ,” Jason waggled his eyebrows, “for a night.”

“Not happening.”

Jason scowled. “Fine. I want the stick that’s shoved up your-“

“ _Jason_.”

The seconds ticked by as the two stared each other down. With a huff, Jason broke his gaze and looked away.

“Alfred’s apple pie.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jason turned to glare at Bruce. “One of Alfred’s apple pies. That’s what I want for Christmas.”

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, and hesitantly opened it again. “You could…stop by, if you wanted. They’re better when they’re fresh.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your precious Christmas plans.”

Bruce’s expression became pained. “There’s always a place for you, Jason.”

Scoffing, Jason turned away, but his eyes were brighter than usual. “Yeah, sure. Can we just take the stupid picture now?”

Bruce gave Jason’s shoulder a quick squeeze and motioned to the photographer. Still sprawled across Santa’s lap, Jason sent the camera a smirk, but it wasn’t as biting as usual, more reminiscent of the impetuous Robin from yester year. The camera flashed, and Jason rose off Bruce’s lap to join his little brothers. He’d just barely moved to the side when—

“SANTA!” Dick bounded forward. With a blinding grin, he plopped onto the red velvet lap and stared down at Bruce with childish glee.

“Dick, what-“

Dick gasped. “You know my name, Santa?”

Bruce forced a smile. “Santa knows a _lot_ of things. Why don’t you just tell him what you want?”

“Hugs. From the family.”

Sighing, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t actually make your brothers hug you.”

“But you can.” Dick sat back and grinned, opening his arms expectantly. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Bruce raised his eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”

Dick gave an exaggerated sigh and let his arms fall. “It was worth a shot. And I want the family to do more things together. In the daytime. As a family.”

Bruce’s eyes glinted. “I think I can do something about that.”

Leaning forward, Brucie waved to a nearby assistant. The chatter of the crowd died down as they waited to see what Brucie wanted.

“Marianne? Could we get some elf costumes over here? You know, the kind with the little green boots? These four young men,” he gestured at his sons, grin widening, “just volunteered to be Santa’s little helpers. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Applause rang out as the crowd’s gaze turned to the brothers. The gold diggers started applying another layer of lipstick.

“Well, shit.”

 “This is all your fault, Grayson.”

Somewhere in the line a baby started wailing.

With a gulp, Dick turned back to Santa. “Ah, Bruce, uh-“

Bruce’s smirk was clear even through the beard. “Ho ho ho, merry Christmas, boys.”


End file.
